


Suit me up

by Renmiriffx



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Crack-ish?, Customer!Mickey, Did I almost write smut? Shame on me, Flirting, Gallavich, I'm ashamed of myself, Ian loves suits, Ian spend his childhood in the northside, M/M, Tailor!Ian, Teasing, arguing?, bc fucking language that's why, lol, or something, um? silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renmiriffx/pseuds/Renmiriffx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian grew up on the North Side and has a appreciation for good suits. Mickey on the other hand is as South Side as you'd get, and he doesn't give a fuck what he wears.</p><p>So what happens when Mandy drags Mickey into a North Side tailor shop where Ian just happens to be working?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suit me up

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm going to have my first therapy evaluation tomorrow and I'm so proud of myself that I finally fucking did it. 
> 
> So I decided to write something silly to celebrate, I hope you'll enjoy!  
> Not my native language and all so excuse the typos and grammar errors.  
> Leave me some love cuties ~<3~  
> I don't bite, not hard anyways ;)

What Ian Gallagher loves is suits…

 Three piece suits, silver jackets with stripes, tailored white ties, not the traditional black&white as much as the tailored ones, simple one colored ties, not the slim ties, but proper ties. Well-fitting pants, bringing out your good qualities (basically the ass), jackets that hug you in the right places, but not the one button jackets. Ian’s tastes with suits are singular.

As are his taste in men…

What Ian loves are slim, tall, good looking men that take care of their appearances. Men that use moisturizer, men that comb their hair, men that use cologne, men that use spa treatments and file their fingernails. Men that use actual shampoo instead of just body wash.

Ian Gallagher wasn’t a vain man, he just knows what he likes. But this particular Monday he’s going to need to rethink his tastes, because he’s going to meet a certain Mickey Milkovich.

 

* * *

 

Mickey’s annoyed to say the least. He's at some posh fucking tailor shop at the North Side for fucks sake. He couldn’t care less, but his sister had insisted that they go there. So here he is, sitting in the waiting bench, chewing his fingernails.  

“I’m not wearing a fucking monkeysuit!” Mickey practically whines to his over the top excited sister.

But his sister, Mandy, tugs his arm. Her smile is brighter than Christmas lights.

“Oh yes you are!” She laughs. “Come on Mickey, you’re the best man, you have to wear a suit.”

“Remind me again why I am the fucking best man in the first place?” Mickey huffs out a wry chuckle.

“Because you’re my brother and I asked Pete to ask you, that’s why asshat,” Mandy pokes him with her elbow. “Unless you want to be my bridesmaid? I bet you’d look dashing in electric blue dress, that would really bring out your gay-ass hairy legs.”

“Just because you’re my baby sister doesn’t get you a fucking freebie, you disgusting cocksucker!” Mickey spats and takes his sisters head in his armpit and messes her hair up with his knuckles.

“Outch! Stop it!” Mandy cries out and Mickey lets her go. “Besides if someone here is a filthy cocksucker, that’d be you my dear brother. Oh, you like that, oh your cocks is so big—“

“Now you’re just asking for it,” Mickey says and reaches for Mandy again, but their sibling bonding moment is interrupted by a giggle coming from behind them.

Both of the Milkoviches turn to look behind them, both scowling.

“I take it that you’re Mr. Milkovich, my one o’clock?” The man behind them asks.

Both Mickey and Mandy check the man out. His model-like face, his flawless jawline, his ginger hair and green-ish eyes. He’s dressed in modest suit (without the jacket, a west piece and pants. White shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows), but he makes it look like a runway piece, it’s simple, yet so elegant. Grey with clean cut lines and simple red tie that pops out, but not too much.

“See Mickey, that’s how you should look like,” Mandy says admiring.

Mickey thinks that the man is posh, too fucking posh for his taste. And clean, like a poster boy. Mickey bets he’s boring as hell, all professional and shit. No fun at all. Mickey bets he even eats his pizza with utensils.

“Ay man, I’m Mickey,” He says. “You’re gonna find me a monkeysuit or what?”

“That’d be my job, yes.” The man says with a smug smile on his face. “I’m Ian, nice to meet you. Now if you’d follow me please,” He motions to Mickey, who reluctantly gets up and follows him to the fitting room.

 

* * *

 

What Ian sees is a dirty man with knuckle tattoos, FUCK-UP, Ian has to hide his sneer. So a tough guy huh? Messy dark hair and shining blue eyes. Ian sighs and shakes his head, this is gonna be a hard one. The way the man keeps munching his fingers and eyeing Ian from head to toes sent shivers through Ian’s body. And he has hard time deciding if they are bad or good vibes.

Ian leads them into a fitting room and closes the door behind them.

“You can put your clothes there,” Ian says and points the stool next to him.

“You want me to get fucking naked?” Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up to the roof.

Ian sighs. “No, I need you to strip down to your underwear, otherwise I’m not going to get good measures.”

“Measures?” Mickey asks confused.

“Yes, I need to measure you, so I’ll know what kind of suit to get you and more importantly what size,” Ian says and gestures the clothes Mickey’s currently wearing. “They don’t fit now do they?”

Mickey snores. “They fucking fit, thank you very much.”

Ian grabs Mickey by the belt loops and tugs him closer, slipping his fingers discreetly inside Mickey’s pants.

“Fuck ya doing?” Mickey coughs, slightly panicking.

Ian runs his fingers in the waistline and pulls.

“There’s like 4 inches of space here,” He looks Mickey in the eyes. “So no, they don’t fit, at all. I’m surprised that they even stay up without a belt.” He says dryly and let’s go of Mickey.

“Now strip,” Ian says clicking his tongue against his palate, which puts more weight on the command he didn’t meant to let out. Ian turns around to give Mickey some privacy and uses that time to get his measure tape out.

It’s a tone of voice that makes Mickey want to obey, and he does. It doesn’t take Mickey long to get rid of his jeans and hoodie.

By the time Ian turns around, Mickey’s standing in the middle of the room, nothing but boxers and a tank top on.

“You should consider changing into briefs,” Ian says casually.

“And why the fuck is that?”

“What I can see you got excellent legs and um… Behind. So why hide it? Beside they are more comfortable.”

“You fucking flirting with me?” Mickey says, but with no actual heat, because if he’s being honest he likes it.

“No, Mr. Milkovich, just being polite.” Ian says, getting his liner ready. “Face towards the mirror, please.”

“Whatever your highness says,” Mickey teases, having absolutely no fucking idea why he does it.

What he should do is punch the smug tailor in the dick. Or hold it in his hand, squeezing around it, stroking it…For fucks sake! Mickey’s getting so sidetracked here, it isn’t even funny. Now he’s fucking grateful he wears boxers and not briefs, because shit might be way too obvious otherwise.

“I’m going to measure your waist, so just breathe normally,” Ian says and placed the measure tape around Mickey’s waist. He releases his grip and scribes something in his notebook.

“So what the occasion?” Ian askes as he moves to take other measurements.

“Sister’s getting married to some douchebag and I’m supposed to be the best man.” Mickey shrugs.

“Douchebag?”

“Not like that, I mean his good for my sis, treats her properly and shit. But he’s like uptight? Might as well have a poker up his ass. Reminds me of you actually,” Mickey laughs. “All posh up, North Side bullshit, with polite gestures and language. All snooty like, looking down at us from the ivory tower. Please follow me _, sir_.” Mickey mocks.

Now Ian would be lying if he’d say that the way Mickey says _Sir,_ doesn’t go straight to his dick. On the other hand he’s extremely annoyed that Mickey dares to pretend to know him, who he is and what he’s like.

“We’re playing that game, huh? Think you know me? Well bring it, _Mickey_.” Ian dares him, cockily raising his eyebrows. “Arms to your sides.”

“You’re some golden boy, who hides behind the fancy fucking suits, you think you’re better than everybody else.”

“But I am better than everybody else,” Ian says with utter confidence. “At least when we’re speaking fashion. And what I’m hiding behind my fancy fucking suits?” Ian askes as he measures Mickey’s arms.

“That you’re dirty. That you really want it rough,” Mickey says, lilting away with a dark deep voice.

“Is that right?” Ian utters.

 He turns to face Mickey, standing in front of him. Planting the measuring tape under Mickey’s arm, in order to get the measurement of his rib cage. Ian tugs Mickey closer with the tape.

“And what do I want rough?” Ian askes, looking straight into Mickey’s eyes, who licks his lips.

Mickey tracks his bottom lip between his teeth and releases it with a pop.

“I bet you fucking take it like a whining bitch, probably cry afterwards,” He says, breathing hotly against Ian’s face.

Ian tightens the tape around Mickey’s upper body.

“In that case, I think you’re a South Side pussy, who secretly likes to be bossed around like a bitch. You’re used to following orders and you get off on it, even if you don’t like to admit it,” Ian says, watching Mickey’s pupils widening.

“Better watch it boy,” Mickey threatens, but not really, it’s just for show.

“See? All show _, pussy_.” Ian presses their bodies even closer. “And I don’t take it, I fucking give it and I give it good.”

There aren’t boxers that could hide what Mickey’s packing downstairs now.

“You sure about that?” Mickey practically moans.

“I’d be happy to demonstrate,” Ian says, flushing their bodies together, lightly grinding against Mickey.

Mickey’s eyes almost do the 360 when he feels Ian’s length against him.

“Well who’s all talk now?”

“Oh, you dirty fucker.”

 

* * *

 

When Mickey and Ian emerge from the fitting room 30 minutes later, Mandy’s already waiting for them.

“So how’d it go?” She asks, eyeing his brother, and his hair, which is messier now that it was earlier.

“We have to reschedule, because your brother seems to have some behavior issues.” Ian coughs and straightens his tie.

“Mickey what the fuck did you do this time?”

“Bitch, I didn’t do anything, why are you always blaming me?”

“The man just said that you didn’t behave fucker,” Mandy huffs.

“I did behave in the end,” Mickey whispers and glances at Ian.

“What was that?” Mandy asks.

“Nothing,” Mickey says and ducks his head.

“So same time next week?” Ian asks Mickey.

“Yeah,” Mickey answers and when his sister isn’t looking he whispers to Ian: “Maybe I was wrong about you.”

“Likewise Mr. Milkovich, now remember to use some lotion,” Ian jokes.

“So bossy.”

“And you like it.”

 

* * *

 

**Three years later…**

 

“How did they even get together in the first place?” The aunt, who no one even remembers inviting, whispers to Mandy.

Mandy looks at his brother and his ragged jeans, the creased all black lean fit suit jacket that reveals the white tank top underneath. And that ridiculous bowtie… Then she looks at Ian and his silvergrey suit that is practically ripped out of a fashion magazine. That black shirt and that white silky vest and the tie with discreet stripes on it. As they hold hands in front of their wedding guests.

“You know what? I have no fucking idea.” Mandy finally says.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr.  
> And fuck, I'm out, peace<3


End file.
